


it's all between strangers anyway

by saltytangerine



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 1930s, Bisexual Steve Rogers, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, i swear i'm working on going up in ratings, tangerine only knows how to write toothrotting fluff, we will eventually get top!steve.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-04
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2020-01-04 20:21:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18351014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltytangerine/pseuds/saltytangerine
Summary: Summer on a Brooklyn rooftopBucky has a total of six freckles, all confined to his nose, the rest of his skin is clear and under the sun’s guidance it almost turns olive; his eyes shine a brighter blue than Steve’s ever could.





	it's all between strangers anyway

**Author's Note:**

> Title is stolen from Owen Sleater in Boardwalk Empire, and it is quite arguably the best line ever uttered on television.

Summer bleaches his hair and turns his cheeks a deeper shade of pink. He has a sprinkling of freckles that only appear from June to August and his shoulders remain as milky as ever. His mother prescribes fresh air for his weak lungs and his friend is happy to spend their third year in a row sat on the roof of his building, Steve in a loose cotton shirt hand-me-down from Bucky and a pair of shorts that he suspects were also his and Bucky in a white wife-beater that Steve is sure will end up as his by the end of the summer.  
They live close enough to the docks that the sound of horns and shouts are commonplace but on the roof they can drown it out to the sound of their own laughter and jokes.  Inseparable is how they intend to live out the summer, as they have lived out the previous summers and winters. Bucky tells him about girls he’s kissed and boys he’s met, promising him that he’ll introduce them to him, his best guy. Steve isn’t sure if he wants to meet them and he already resents them for stealing Bucky's time away from him. He thought that he was going to kiss Shirley from across the hall last week, but she laughed when he offered to take her to the pictures; so he went with Bucky instead and they sat in the back of the screen, Bucky’s arm draped over the back of Steve’s seat and his thigh pressed against close to his.

“You’re perfect.” He whispers, laying on his side, his back to the setting sun and the orange hue illuminating him from behind, giving him the halo that Steve was sure he saw all the time. His head sits on his palm, his fingers lost in his thick short hair. They’ve spent most of the day in the sunshine and Bucky looks intoxicated by it, eyes heavily lidded and sleepy. Steve thinks that he’s the pinnacle of masculine beauty, something that he, himself, can never aspire to. He started boxing last year and under the shirts he wears, Steve knows that his arms and shoulders are the strongest they’ve ever been. “You’re like a fuckin’ doll, Stevie.”

“Don’t let too many people hear you say that.” He says with no shortage of bitterness, but he still lays beside him, the sun heating the brick under them, he jokes that he feels like he’s being grilled. His summer hair and skin doesn’t make him beautiful in his own eyes and he wants Bucky to spare himself from seeing him as something he’s not. He’s been reading books in the library about Greek gods, admiring the sculptures, and there’s something distinctly European about Bucky that he can’t put his finger on and when he closes his eyes, he sees him carved in marble as one of the countless deities, sent down to befriend a lonely boy who finds himself often in too much trouble.

“We’ll keep it between us then.” Bucky agrees and on the rooftop no one can see them; they’re high above anyone else and the iron railings burn hot in the sunshine, almost as hot as the space between the friends as the day winds down. Bucky’s hands are larger than his but they’re just as gentle as his own when Bucky places a hand on his chest, over the shirt and he can feel his fingernails gently pawing at his skin. He’ll do anything he asks, to keep his company, to keep him close, his very closest friend.

“Yeah.” He says, putting his right hand over Bucky’s, his long fingers closing around his palm. For a moment, he thinks about pushing his hand off, it’s warm and although he’s not pushing on him, he feels the weight of his touch burning into his sternum. Nothing is in his throat and he isn’t wheezing, but it still feels like his breath is caught on something. “Are we in the habit of keepin’ things between us?”

“Yeah, we are.” He says, almost like he’s defeated, like the air has been punched out of his own healthy chest. He smiles the softest of smiles, only reserved for Steven Grant Rogers and Steve’s wanted nothing more than to kiss him when he looks at him through his eyelashes. His eyes are fixed on his and Steve watches them get closer and closer, without blinking, until Bucky’s eyes close and he can feel his breath on his lips and chin. He’s been readying himself for his first kiss for months and so at this point, he would accept it from anyone who offered, but luck is on his side when Bucky’s lips close over Steve’s; his heart pounds heavier and his breathing really does struggle to keep even.  
It is a lie to say that he’s never felt Bucky’s lips, but feeling them on his own in the deliberate action of a kiss is on the edge of becoming overwhelming. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands, they become heavy and full of lead, scared to touch him, scared that his subconscious will wake up and push Bucky away. Bucky is older and has kissed more people than he cares to know about and he knows what to do with his own hands and one hand rests on Steve’s waist, his other planted on the ground, holding himself up. Steve finally breaks his hands free from gravity and wraps one arm around Bucky’s neck like he’s seen in movies. He doesn’t read romance novels and he isn’t a fan of watching the leading ladies kiss men on the big screen but he knows enough to close his eyes while Bucky kisses him and he knows Bucky enough to feel the smile against his lips when he pulls him closer.

“It’s between us, what we do, Stevie...” His breath sounds almost as he’s been running for miles through the humid backstreets, weaving between cars and with pockets full of stolen candy. His forehead rests against Steve’s and Steve’s hands cup his face tenderly, afraid of scaring him even though Bucky’s the one who initiated the kiss. He’s beautiful in the sunset and he’s beautiful in the sunrise; it isn’t fair and his smiles alone could solve all the world’s problems if he could only bottle them. They could make millions and live in one of the townhouses they walk past to and from school. His slightly crooked front teeth and his lips that always seem to stay parted, ready to pout his way out of trouble, they make him feel warm in the same way that Mabel’s perfume and sheer dresses do.

“You’re still comin’ to mine tonight?” He feels dry, something unusual in the humidity of the borough by the sea and he keeps his hands on Bucky’s cheeks, desperate for him not to fade away. Bucky has a total of six freckles, all confined to his nose, the rest of his skin is clear and under the sun’s guidance it almost turns olive; his eyes shine a brighter blue than Steve’s ever could. His jawline is strong and square but in his hands it’s soft and Bucky tilts his head so he’s pressing his cheek into Steve’s left hand.

“’Course I am, punk; try and keep me away.”


End file.
